Those Defining Moments
by Lady Maeror
Summary: Ten different stories that explore different Ranger's Apprentice characters. Simple one-shots about remembering those left behind, being true to one's self, and moving forward. For once, no romance! R&R, No Flames.
1. Introduction

**|| Those Defining Moments ||**

**xxx**

* * *

**Warning:**

Various spoilers throughout all books. I won't mention which because I am too lazy.

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own any of RA, except any characters I create because I feel like it. Disclaimer for whole story.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I have done it again: I made a new story. I really suck at refraining myself.

Originally I wanted the youths only for RA to do short pieces on defining moments that took them down their career paths, but then Will's was done in the text, George isn't even mentioned more than three times, so I was left with four until I added Gilan. And then I thought; why not just do important moments?

So I have.

Some are done in a different sense to what you might imagine, I've stuck as close to the text as I can, but there is so much unknown in most of the character's backgrounds. So I get to play with it. Yay.

It's been mentioned to me also, that all my stories are romantic. I laugh whenever I see this, and yet, sadly, it is true. Here's my challenge for myself, no romance whatsoever.

But then what theme will it be...? :o

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

There aren't any pairings. I know.

I'm dead serious.

Really.

* * *

- Please, read onto the next chapter -

:)


	2. Keep Those You Love Safe

**Horace:**

**|| Keep Those You Love Safe ||**

**xxx**

* * *

"So you are Horace Altman?" A deep voice asked.

Horace stared up defiantly as a large face peeked over a piece of parchment that had previously obscured his view.

The man that looked down on him had a well trimmed beard and moustache, but looked all together too lazy and comfortable for Horace's liking.

"Well, sit down and we'll talk." The man encouraged, waving his hand forward and offering a cheery smile.

Warily, the young boy obeyed, first attempting with difficulty, to get onto the chair, and then wriggling around on it until he found a position he liked.

The man opposite watched him with amusement.

"Now, my name is Baron Arald, and I am the Lord of this castle." The man introduced himself.

His large hand reached over the desk, patiently awaiting Horace's response. The boy took it tentatively and was surprised by the strength of grip that was returned.

"How old are you now, Horace?" Arald asked gently. He of course, already knew the answer, but he enjoyed getting to know new children who would be taken in by his Ward.

"Nine, sir." Horace answered in a mumble, shyly looking down at his own knees, trying to avoid this 'Baron's' earnest gaze.

"I know you recently lost your mother." Arald said softly.

The boy's face snapped up at that, eyes suddenly beginning to pool with tears. He looked like he wanted to throw an insult, but his lip trembled and the boy kept his mouth shut, refusing to cry.

Baron Arald admired his courage, even when grieving.

"It's okay, I'm here to help. You don't have a father, do you?" He went on.

Rubbing the back of his hand across his face, Horace shook his head.

He glanced up in surprise when a silky handkerchief was offered to him. The boy accepted it carefully, muttering thanks as he did.

"Well now, I have a place for you here at the castle, to keep you safe."

Horace looked up at the Baron, frowning as he listened.

"You can grow up here and learn how to read and write, not many children get that opportunity. You will have a home, and one day, when you are old enough, you can try and Choose the position you want here at the castle."

The young boy dropped the cloth from his face, an expression of wonderment mixed with nervousness crossing his innocent face.

"There are other children like you, Horace, that have lost their parents. You won't be alone." Arald continued.

The young boy brightened at this, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Would you like me to introduce you to them later on?" Arald offered.

"Yes please, sir." Horace replied, trying to sound eager, but still weighed down by his loss.

Happy with this outcome, the Lord sat back in his chair, quietly observing Horace.

For a nine year old, there wasn't much to see, but his strength of character was already present, most children were omitted to the Baron, wailing and crying for their lost parents. He enjoyed getting to know someone like Horace, who seemed to be naturally braver than average children, even if he was very quiet.

"How about you tell me some things you like?" Arald asked him.

Horace's gaze flickered back down to his lap, where his hands fidgeted nervously.

"I like playing outside." He said quietly, but loud enough for the Baron to hear.

"Outside? Well that's good, there's plenty to do outside here at the castle. Is there anything else?"

"Swords," Horace admitted, a small glimmer of light entering his eyes, "and shields, mighty horses, great battles, heroes." He listed eagerly.

The Baron's eyebrow rose at this and he beamed at the boy in front of him.

"Ah yes, did you know I am a mighty warrior myself?"

Horace looked at him dubiously.

Arald chuckled, "I am not making that up."

The boy shrugged, as if it didn't matter if he was being serious or not.

"Well," he said, his voice became less distracted and he leant forward to meet his eyes to Horace's. "If you practise and keep fit, on the day of Choosing, you could be picked to go to Battleschool and become a knight of Araluen." He told the boy.

For the first time, Horace gave him a genuine smile.

"I want to be a knight."

"Oh really?"

"My mother was killed by rogues. I want to be a knight, so one day I can stop things like that from happening." Horace's eyes shone with determination.

The Baron sat back once more, a deep, thoughtful look on his face.

"You do know that being a knight is dangerous?" He told Horace seriously.

He nodded, if hesitantly. "If I were a knight, I could have stopped them from killing my mum! I would take them down, so they could never hurt anyone again!" He exclaimed eagerly, his small hands clenching into fists.

"Horace," Arald said gently, "Being a knight isn't about killing the bad people."

"But knights do kill, don't they?" Horace asked, his expression falling.

"Sometimes." He lied. "But being a knight is about protecting those who can't protect themselves. A knight looks after the Kingdom, and their castle, and the people who need it. Do you understand?"

There was a moment of silence as Horace took in the Lord's words.

"So, I wouldn't kill?"

"No."

Horace frowned, glancing down again, his growing hair shadowing his face so Arald couldn't read his expression.

"But, I would be able to save the people I care about?" He finally asked.

"Yes."

The boy looked up again, a large smile spreading across his face.

Arald inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Then, I still want to become a knight." He said, his cheeks flushed with excitement and hope.

"And a fine knight you would be." The Baron told him and was rewarded with an even larger smile from the small boy.

Horace practically glowed with the praise, momentarily forgetting his loss and his situation.

"Would you like to see the other Ward children now?" The Baron asked, realising they needed to get back on topic.

The boy nodded, his smile still present, although it wavered at the prospect of meeting new children.

Arald stood and came around, helping the boy down from the large chair with an offered hand.

Hesitantly, Horace took it, smiling when he was safe back onto his own feet.

The Baron went ahead without warning, and Horace found he wanted to keep up with him.

Eventually, he found a pace that kept him slightly behind the Baron.

"Sir?"

"Hmm?" Arald answered, glancing back and down at the boy.

"Just you see, I'll be the best knight in Redmont." Horace promised, his eyes bright with determination.

The Lord of Redmont turned his gaze back in front of him, a small smile forming on his face.

It was not the first time he marvelled at a child's innocence.

"I'm sure you will." He called back.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Don't fret too much about child-Horace, I mean he's nine. I just felt that until half-way through book one do you actually see that Horace isn't some dumb brawny guy, so like Will, I wanted him to have a reason to truly wish to become a knight. And what better motivation than to protect those you hold dear?

- Mae.


	3. The Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

This oneshot is hard to explain. Mostly, reading about Duncan's succession to the throne made me feel bad for him. In a twisted and complicated way, it's his moment of friendship, where he realises he isn't alone.

It's _his_ oneshot, but there is a bit of Crowley too, similar to the Baron being in Horace's. Crowley will have his own chapter, which actually follows his thoughts here.

There is no slash whatsoever.

* * *

**Duncan:**

**|| The Ties that Bind ||**

**xxx**

* * *

The newly crowned King Duncan, sat alone at his work desk, inherited from his father.

He ran a finger across it, idly admiring the sleek surface. He knew in the back of his mind that he was simply distracting himself.

There was a quick knock, where one of his guards announced the presence of two King's Rangers.

Duncan sat up quickly, his eyes suddenly brighter.

He had been expecting more officials and nobles, come to drown him in formality or simply to express their desire to serve him, hoping to benefit their status.

All in all, between his grief and his emotional turmoil, some intelligent people would refresh his mind.

Two cloaked figures made their way into the workroom, removing their cowls as they presented themselves to the young King.

"Your Majesty." Duncan heard them say.

The first Ranger he knew of, Corps Commandant Giller, who sported grey hair that matched his beard. There was a lively sparkle in his gaze, but Duncan knew the man was close to retirement.

And the second was Ranger Crowley, one of Duncan's close friends. He was older by a few years, but had grown up around Castle Araluen. Giller was his former mentor, and due to the impending war, he had been called back to help out.

Giller looked quite grim; his face a mask of concern, but Crowley flashed him a quick smile.

The Corps Commandant proceeded to inform his new King of all the impending danger, including the forces moving against him, and the Baron's reaction to his father's death. The responsibility lay heavily on Duncan's shoulders.

Giller concluded his report, with information that Lord Northolt was rallying people, to come together and fight Morgarath's forces.

"I suggest gathering Ranger's from nearby Fiefs to help with the war; we are brilliant tacticians after all." Giller finished.

Duncan glanced up at that.

"Won't that leave many of them vulnerable?"

Giller nodded, glad he had grasped that. "Of course, the outer Fiefs have to stay manned with their Battlemaster, Baron and Ranger; however, those close to the south will need to contribute. If we lose this war, it won't matter anyway."

The King sighed. "I understand, very well, please go and inform those you think will be needed to help." He commanded.

The Corps Commandant nodded and left, giving a curious glance to young Crowley as he did.

The blonde haired Ranger took a seat as Giller left, clearly making himself comfortable.

"You don't look too well." He noted.

The King stood and shrugged. "Probably because I'm not."

"I know, with Morgarath and the death of your father, its bad timing."

Duncan's gaze grew distant as they both sunk into their own thoughts. "I mean, only last week I was seriously considering proposing to Lady Angeline, and now that's the furthest from my mind." He ran a hand through his golden hair, wondering when he last had bathed between grieving and planning for a war. "Most other heirs get years of watching and guidance before they take the crown. A lot of Kings hand it over when they wish to retire, at least in other countries. I'm not ready, I never was." He admitted.

Crowley observed his friend with interest. They had always been a good pair of inseparable friends.

He was the elusive Ranger, with elite skills in archery and unseen movement, while Duncan was a prodigy with the sword. Each men of fifteen, they had spent a total of five years in each other's presence.

Now both men in their twenties, they each had responsibilities thrust upon them without warning and want.

While Duncan was giving the throne before he was mentally ready, Crowley had been assuming duties of a Senior Ranger, due to having such an influential mentor and talent. They were both in compromising positions.

"I know its hard Duncan, but as isolated as you feel, you _aren't_ alone." The Ranger said eventually.

The King turned his gaze on him, bright green eyes watching him.

"There are those who have faith in you. I mean, Lord Northolt is gathering Barons to help strategise the coming war; Giller is calling for Ranger's to help out. You're scribes and officials are bringing out all the treaties and alliances you have for your aid."

"And what if we lose?"

His word's startled Crowley for a moment, before he gathered his thoughts and exhaled loudly.

"Well then, at least we'll know we gave it our best and that we didn't give up." He replied honestly.

Duncan was touched, smiling widely at his friend.

"You're awfully optimistic, aren't you?"

Crowley shrugged. "You know me, I like to laugh and look at the bright side. To be honest, I'm quite proud of the way you're handling things too." He added

"I'm the King." Duncan said with a smile. "Private matters come last, matters of the Kingdom come first."

The Ranger opposite him grinned widely. "For whatever reason you feel you aren't ready to rule, you've yet to show that you can't."

The King accepted the compliment with grace, holding in the urge to either hug or bat his friend with the reports.

"Well, I better be leaving. I'm sure Giller will need me soon." Crowley said lazily, yawning and stretching his arms as he stood.

Duncan nodded and waved him off. "Of course."

With one last sympathetic smile, the young Ranger was gone, leaving the King to his own musings.

The young man stood and carefully rearranged the reports so they were in a much neater state.

He felt calm and at peace, regardless of the coming danger. Until the Ranger's had arrived, he didn't realise he was unnerved and edgy.

There were many things Duncan owed Crowley in life, the highest being in debt to his great friendship.

Amongst the violence and fear, the newly crowned King thought of the support he was being given from unexpected places.

He remembered his friends and his allies, all working to help him conquer Morgarath and save his Kingdom.

And suddenly, he no longer saw the growing darkness, but the light at the end.

* * *

**A/N:**

First few pages of Book 1 is where I have all this information. I didn't make it up. I assumed Crowley was the same age as Duncan due to still having coloured hair.

I don't own Duncan's quote bout being the King, it was page 163 in Book 2, and I thought it would be great to foreshadow the fact that Duncan's always sacrificing his feelings for the sake of Araluen.

- Love Mae.


	4. Once More for Love

**Author's Note:**

This was the first oneshot I thought of in this story line. The only reason it's third is because 1) People are turned away by my minority character stories, and 2) then Duncan's idea was fresh in my mind.

Reading this from the first pages of Book 1 hit a soft spot. My mother isn't dead, but I feel closer to her from cooking, so this is personally heart-warming.

It was hard to word this one, its split into a past/present bit unlike the others, to make the meaning come across better.

* * *

**Jenny:**

**|| Once More for Love ||**

**xxx**

* * *

Jenny thought of herself as a good cook. For a child of ten, she could create and execute many recipes.

Granted, she wasn't the best at reading, but her mother had taught her the symbols and measurements from their papers from a young age. All the basic recipes she knew, and she could attempt a lot of others. For the most part her mother did the hard bits for her, especially anything that involved a knife.

Today, she was flicking through their book, passed down from Jenny's grandmother.

A small sketch to the side of each recipe illustrated the finished product, and Jenny was keeping watch for a special pastry.

She had already created the filling of fruits, since her mother wouldn't let her deal with meat on her own.

A noise to the end of her small home alerted her to her mother's presence.

"Jen, what are you doing?" Her mother asked curiously as she stepped through the door, brushing off flour from her apron.

The small girl tucked the book behind her, trying to put on the best innocent-looking face she could manage.

Her blonde hair shook as she bounced on her toes.

"Um, nothing."

Her mother crossed her arms and smiled.

"What are you doing with the book?" She repeated, stepping closer.

Frowning as she recognised she was beaten, Jenny hesitantly let her mother see the book, pouting to try and soften the situation.

Her mother knelt down; her long blonde hair held together by a ribbon, mirrored her own.

"What is it you were looking for?" She asked gently.

Jenny glanced at her mum, wondering if it was a good idea to reveal her plans. Eventually she told her of the flaky pastry she wanted to create.

"Ah, that would be at the back, with the other sweets." Her mother told her, instantly reverting into her teaching-mode.

Her mother pretended not to notice the small bowl of sweet filling sitting on the table until Jenny was ready to show her, and led her daughter to the bench they shared, setting the book down carefully and raising Jenny up onto the wooden block they kept to help her height.

"Now, here's how we start..." Her mother told her.

Together they collected the right utensils and bowls and mixed the flour, sugar and shortening together to create a smooth, gooey dough.

"Doesn't look special." Jenny muttered as she gazed at it in disapproval.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Oh, did you want it to be special?"

The small child looked up and then slowly nodded.

"Well then let me show you a trick my mother taught me." She took flour out of their bag and lightly sprinkled the bench with it.

"To make the best pastry, you roll it exactly nine times."

Jenny stared at the mass, her bright eyes curious. "Nine times?" She asked innocently.

Her mother smiled and nodded. "My mother always said, 'eight times to make it flaky, and once more for love.'"

The little girl gave a small giggle. "Love? But what if you want to just eat it?"

With another broad smile her mother handed the dough to her and let her test out her instructions.

"Because dear, when you cook, you cook for others. I cook to keep you fed and happy, therefore I cook with love so you can have the best food. Remember that, there's a difference between a good cook who cooks for themselves, and a great cook, who cooks with the heart." She lectured.

"Okay." Jenny answered content with the answer.

Together they finished the pastry, and her mother let Jenny line a small pan and then pour in the filling she had made.

Her mother wondered if it would taste alright, and then mentally scolded herself for not having faith in her daughter.

Jenny often got bored while waiting for food to finish and badgered her mother to tell her a story.

Finally, after several checks, her mother guessed it was done and they headed towards the small fire where it was wrapped securely and ready to retrieve.

Her mother picked the pie out of the embers and handed it to Jenny, who was determined to hold her creation in heavily padded mitts.

"Wait until it's cooled." She warned her daughter, settling to sit at their small table.

By the light of the fire that they used to cook, Jenny's mother began to feel sleepy.

A noise awoke her, and she glanced up to find the sweet pie sitting onto a small plate. Jenny was beaming proudly at her.

"Here mother, I cooked this for you." She exclaimed, smiling widely.

The women felt a smile touch her lips and she reached over to gently stroke her daughter's growing hair.

"I'm sure it will taste wonderful." She told her.

* * *

Horace was the most attentive of her Ward friends, and even he hadn't picked on the mass cooking Jenny did on this particular day.

For in truth, she hadn't told anyone and she doubted even Baron Arald knew.

Once a year, on this particular date, she would request to use the Castle's kitchen to her own devices.

From it, she would produce an array of sweet and savoury foods, delightful and tasty, and each had some sort of pastry in them.

Will had once voiced that it was her 'baking day', while Alyss had tried a better reason, thinking Jenny was using her free reign over the kitchen to try new recipes.

Either way, all her Ward mates were content, since they got to eat and appreciate her food.

This was part of the reason of why she did it.

Exactly two years ago her mother had passed away from an illness that was assumed incurable.

She missed her terribly, after only knowing her father fought in the war against Morgarath.

But there was one day a year in which she truly celebrated her mother's life.

It was almost four years ago that her mother had taught her the family secret of pastry making, and in fact, the ability to create food with a passion.

And on the anniversary of her mother's death, Jenny did what she loved most; cooking for those she held dear.

She wanted her friends to enjoy what she had for the earlier years of her life.

So she rolled out the new dough she was preparing for Horace, who loved savoury pies.

Six, seven, eight times.

"And once more for love." She quoted and smiled.

* * *

**A/N:**

Quote is page 28, Book 1.

Don't get angry for the repetitive use of 'cook', she's ten. I couldn't go sprouting complicated words, especially if her mum is a simple baker.

This is another one where I'm not too sure if I've done my best.

Thanks for all the reviews so far, I hope for more :)

- Love Mae.


	5. Women Can Be Just as Good

**Author's Note:**

Now _this_ was interesting and mildly difficult to write.

I have done this multiple times over in documents, and this is the final outcome. It looks strangely like **Elfpen's** _Of Noble Blood_ in a sense_,_ but I swear I didn't copy it from there. But that story is amazing and you should see it :P

Anyway, don't think Pauline is out of character because this is set years before the series. I tried to get into her mind, but it _was_ different to any other character I've portrayed before.

I want to reiterate that the purpose of my story is describe 'defining' moments. This is heavily defined by Duncan's dialogue and more of Pauline's thoughts.

* * *

**Pauline:**

**|| Women Can Be Just as Good ||**

**xxx**

* * *

"This way my lady." Lord Anthony spoke quietly, but with the unmistakable lace of authority.

Nodding, she fell into step behind him, poised and graceful.

"Your majesty, King Duncan." He announced, perhaps too loudly for the echo-prone room.

Automatically she curtseyed deeply before she had even set eyes upon the King.

"Welcome, Lady Pauline." He greeted her, and she glanced up to meet sparkling green eyes.

She nodded and offered a small smile. "Your majesty."

Lord Anthony faded into the background, where Crowley stood as well. In front of the King were multiple advisers. Lord Berran, one of the King's skilled advisers, stood next to the Diplomatic Service Head Peter.

Peter gave her a curt not and she returned the gesture.

She wasn't sure why she had been summoned from Redmont, but it clearly was important. Her quick mind ticked over the different reasons she could be there.

Apparently it wasn't necessary, because Duncan cleared his throat and announced, "I've called you all to discuss an important matter that's been on my mind for a while." He met each gaze evenly. "Baron Arald suggested an idea to me that struck a chord. I've been thinking on this since, and I've decided to take your opinions."

Still, despite the fact that Arald was involved, Pauline was uncertain as to why _she_ was there. After all, she was just the Craftmaster at Redmont.

"He has begun a Ward program at Castle Redmont, with my approval of course. Although I agree that it is a good idea for orphaned children to be taken care of, it does provide us with a good opportunity." The King told them.

Berran wanted to draw attention to the fact that the King was being vague, but he knew it would be a bad move, especially with Lord Anthony standing beside the King, a man of strict protocol.

"I'd like to send a formal message to the other Baron's, alerting them to Baron Arald's idea. I won't push them to do the same; Arald decided to use his own fortune to help and only asked for my permission. But I suggest that children raised in a Castle Ward should be given the opportunity to try and make something of themselves, instead of subjecting them to working in the fields."

There was a pause of silence as the occupants absorbed his words.

"Your majesty, would that mean that commoners could become knights?" Peter asked neutrally.

King Duncan nodded. "Yes. I thought about that point, and decided that as long as they have the loyalty and skill; it wouldn't matter if they were of noble heritage." He flicked a glance toward Crowley. "Besides, the Ranger Corps have always been made up of commoners. They show a good example."

Understanding the logic, Peter nodded slowly.

Seeing that the Diplomatic Head was in agreement, the King turned to Berran.

"It sounds like a logical and beneficial decision, your majesty." The Lord stated.

Since she hadn't been directly asked for her opinion, Pauline stood solidly without betraying her feelings towards the matter. Stationed at Redmont, she saw first-hand how generous the Ward was. If talented children were omitted, there could be an opportunity for them in the future.

"Good, so Lord Anthony, please see to my suggestion and work on letters to the Barons." Duncan ordered. With a nod of his head, Lord Anthony exited the room.

"Now, Lady Pauline, I'm sorry I didn't provide you with a reason behind my summoning." The King directed at her, smiling.

Pauline noted upon the way King Duncan interacted with people. He used all the proper formality as he was expected, but had a habit of apologising and in some ways, levelled himself with his subjects. She wondered if it was intentional, or if he was just a humble King. Then again, he was relatively new to his position.

"It was of no trouble, your majesty." She replied smoothly.

"I wanted to meet you. I was curious to learn that my father had employed a Noble born Lady as the Craftmaster for the Diplomatic Service at Redmont." He explained.

Although Peter chose the candidates for each Fief, the King had to approve first.

"I once thought my father was a shrewd man, but reading through your evaluations and reports, I now know he saw a good head on your shoulders." The King went on.

Pauline felt warm with the praise, but didn't display how much his comment affected her. Instead she dropped the slightest of curtseys to show her gratitude.

"In fact," Duncan spoke quietly, "it was your achievements that helped me believe that Baron Arald's idea for the Ward was a good one."

The Courier blinked, the only sign to show that she was confused. She was Noble born, so she couldn't understand how her influence helped. "Pardon, your majesty?" She asked.

He waved a hand in her direction. "Sorry, I'm being vague again."

_Ah,_ she thought, _so he did know he was being estranged before._

"I meant to say, the children who are given the opportunity to take a new position in life should extend to girls as well."

Lord Berran tilted his head. "Women? Wouldn't that only extend to the Cooking School, your majesty?"

Pauline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. But the King actually glanced to the Lord, a dangerous glint in his gaze.

"That's a rather shrewd observation, Lord Berran." Duncan answered.

The Lord seemed to realise he had stepped out of place and closed his mouth.

Now ignoring his adviser, Duncan turned back to Pauline. "Unfortunately, most girls are too weak physically to attend most the schools offered at Redmont, such as Blacksmithing and Battleschool. That being said, not every boy would be apprenticed if they didn't meet requirements. Do you understand?"

Pauline nodded slowly. Eventually she answered at length, "I understand, your majesty."

Berran frowned. "Forgive me for saying this, but girls at a young age wouldn't have the same goals as boys." He gestured towards Pauline. "Lady Pauline here is an exception; she was brought up with education and knowledge."

Duncan let a hand come to his forehead. "Lord Berran, Arald offers many tiers of education for the Ward children. Every one of them can read and write and know basic geography, logic and mathematics. The difference between them and Noble born children, are specialist classes concerned with running a Fief and whatnot."

Lord Berran got the hint and vowed not to add his opinion for the rest of the meeting.

"As said, if a commoner can become a highly skilled Ranger, so too can girls. They just have to know it's possible." Duncan turned a mischievous gaze to his Diplomatic Head. "Lady Pauline herself is a wonderful example. Women _can_ be just as good as men."

Peter nodded and grinned. "Yes your majesty, we're very proud of her."

Pauline wondered in a small part of her mind, whether the King was taking steps before measuring the distance. Despite his neutral attitude towards gender, other Kingdom's could see it as a weakness. As Berran put it, she _was_ an exception. She knew that the moment she was apprenticed to her mentor. She wasn't the only female Courier, but there weren't many others.

"Well, that was all I had to say. You may leave." Duncan finished.

Everyone bowed, while she curtseyed. As she turned to follow Crowley out the door, Duncan called her back.

"I apologise for Berran's attitude." He explained.

"There's no need to apologise your majesty, I know that Lord Berran only thinks in the same way as others do." She answered smoothly.

"Only a few select advisers know my intentions, and I think you should know too." He took a breath and fixed her with his deep emerald gaze. "From the moment I took the throne, I've learnt that I should decide a person's worth based on their merit and not their status. I want to spread that philosophy, starting with your Fief. I'm glad that Baron Arald shares the same view as mine, he's a very influential man."

Now fully aware that he was confiding in her, Pauline gave him her utmost attention.

"But to do that I will need your help. You are a Craftmaster and a very intelligent woman, your presence at Redmont can help to encourage children to aspire." He paused for an answer.

Pauline nodded and folded her hands neatly in front of her. "For as much as my opinion is worth, I think it is a grand thing you are doing, your majesty. I will happily stand up for your idea; just let me know what it is you wish for me to do to help." She answered.

Duncan smiled a warm, genuine gesture that lit up his face.

"In truth you are already helping. The mere presence of you today alerted my advisers that things were changing." The King nodded. "Yes, the change will be gradual of course. But in the long run I'm sure we will benefit our Kingdom. Just promise me you will try and inspire self-belief amongst Baron's Ward children."

Pauline agreed.

Knowing she was dismissed, she still lingered for a few moments, a thoughtful expression on her face.

What she previously saw as ignorance in the King's eyes, was actually wisdom founded in such a young man with a heavy responsibility on the shoulders. He was logical and precise with his evaluation of a woman's usefulness.

His vision wasn't a stupid idea, she realised.

Lady Pauline could see a man who lead by measuring someone's worth. He was cautious and trusting.

In any other person, she would think it was a silly notion.

But King Duncan had been honest with his explanations and had gained her respect, which in her mind, was a high achievement.

As she backed out of the door, curtseying with grace, Pauline watched the King smile softy.

And she could truly understand his hope for the future of Araluen.

* * *

**A/N:**

For the purpose of my story, Arald's Ward was created before the War with Morgarath, just after Duncan took the throne. It only stated that they were orphan children of those parent's who died in _service_ to the Fief, not the war. ^ ^

This is the beginning of Pauline's friendship with the King; assume his father had employed her.

- Mae.


End file.
